The subject of this narrative might have "died with his boots on," for he had
many chances -- but he didn't. The fact that he lived to die in bed, with his
boots removed, as all good folk like to do when the end has come, may have been
due to good luck, but I hardly think so. That he was the quickest at the
critical moment is, perhaps, the best answer. When the time came for Luke Short
to pass out of this life -- to render up the ghost as it were-he was able to lie
down in bed in a home that was his own, surrounded by wife and friends, and
peacefully await the coming of the end.

There was nothing in his wan and drawn features, as he lay on that last bed of
sickness at Fort Worth, Texas, to indicate that luck had ever been his friend.
He was aware that his time had come, and was reconciled to his fate. Every
lineament in that cold, stern face, upon which death had already left its
impress, showed defiance. He could almost be heard to say: "Death! You skulking
coward! I know you are near; I also realize I cannot defeat you; but, if you
will only make yourself visible for one brief moment, I will try!"

That he was willing to try, no matter how great the odds might be against him, was the one trait in his character that was ever conspicuously present.

Was Known as a "White Indian"

Luke was a little fellow, so to
speak, about five feet, six inches in height, and weighing in the neighborhood
of one hundred and forty pounds. It was a small package, but one of great
dynamic force. In this connection it will not be out of order for me to state
that, though of small build, it required a 7 1/8 hat to fit his well-shaped,
round head. At the time he left his father's ranch in western Texas, where he had been occupied as a cowboy in the middle seventies, for the Red Cloud Agency in South Dakota, he was nothing more than a white Indian. That is, he was an Indian in every respect except color. And, as nearly all of our American Indians living west of the Missouri River in those days were both wild and hostile and on the war path most of the time, a fair idea of Luke Short may be gleaned from this statement. Luke had received none of the advantages of a school in his younger days; he could hardly write his name legibly. It was, indeed, doubtful if he had ever seen a schoolhouse until he reached man's estate. But he could ride a bronco and throw a lariat; he could shoot both fast and straight, and was not afraid.

He had no sooner reached the northern boundary line of Nebraska, hard by the SiouxIndian Reservation, than he established what he was pleased to call a "trading ranch."

His purpose was to trade with the SiouxIndians, whose reservation was just across the line in South Dakota. Instinctively he knew that the Indians loved whiskey, and as even in those days he carried on his shoulders something of a commercial head, he conceived the idea that a gallon of whiskey worth ninety cents was not a bad thing to trade an Indian for a buffalo robe worth ten dollars. Accordingly, Luke proceeded to lay in a goodly supply of "Pine Top," the name by which the whiskey traded to the Indians in exchange for their robes was known.

Uncle Sam Objects to His Business

He was not long in building up a lucrative business; nor was it long before the Indian chiefs of the Sioux tribe got on to him. Drunken bands of young bucks were regularly returning to their villages from the direction of the Short rendezvous, loaded to the muzzle with "Pine Top," and, as every drink contained at least two fights and as it usually took about ten drinks to cause an Indian to forget that the Great White Father abode in Washington, the condition of those who had found entertainment at the Short ranch, when they reached their camp, can better be imagined than told.

The Indian agent in charge of this particular branch of the Sioux tribe, with whom Short had been dealing, soon got busy with Washington. He represented to the Department of the Interior that a band of cutthroat white men, under the leadership of Luke Short, were trading whiskey to his Indians, and that he was powerless to stop it, as the camp of the white men was located just across the reservation line, in the State of Nebraska, which was outside of his jurisdiction. He requested the government to instantly remove the whiskey traders and drive them from the country. Otherwise, said he, an Indian uprising will surely follow. The government, as was to be expected, forthwith instructed the post commander at Omaha to get after the purveyors of the poisonous "Pine Top," who were charged with causing such havoc among the noble red men of the Sioux reservation.

The military commander at Omaha soon had a company of United States cavalry after Short, and, as he had no notice of such a move being made against him, he was soon a prisoner in the hands of the government authorities. He was alone in his little dugout, cooking his dinner, when the soldiers arrived. He was told that he was a prisoner, by order of the government, for having unlawfully traded whiskey to the
Indians.

"Is that all, gentlemen?" said Luke, as he
invited the officer in command of the soldiers to sit down and have a bite to
eat with him.

"There will be no time for eating," said the officer, "as we must reach Sidney
by tomorrow morning, in time to catch the Overland train for Omaha. So get
together what things you care to take along and we will be on our way."

"I have nothing that I care to take along," Luke replied, "excepting what I have
on;" and as that mostly consisted of a pair of Colt's pistols and a belt of
cartridges, the officer soon had them in his custody.
"Where are your partners?" queried the Captain.

"I have no partners," replied Short. "I've been running this ranch by myself."

But Luke did have a partner, who was at that very time in Sidney procuring
provisions and more "Pine Top."

After everything around the ranch resembling whiskey had been destroyed by order
of the officer in command, the trip to Sidney, about seventy-five miles away,
was taken up. Luke was put astride a government horse; his feet fastened with a
rope underneath the animal's girth, and told to ride in the center of the
company of cavalrymen. Sidney was reached in time to catch the Overland train,
and Luke was hustled aboard with as little ceremony as possible.

Luke had, by his quiet and diffident manner during the short time he had been
prisoner, succeeded in having the officer regard him in the light of a harmless
little adventurer, who really did not seem capable, even if so disposed, of
committing a crime of any sort; and for this reason did not have him either
handcuffed or shackled, after placing him aboard the train for Omaha.

Sidney,
Nebraska, was a very small place in those days. The permanent population in all probability did not exceed the thousand mark. Sidney, following the custom of all small hamlets, however, would turn out when there was anything unusual going on. And the sight of a company of United States soldiers lined up at the railroad station was enough to arouse her curiosity and cause her townsfolk to turn out in a body and investigate the cause. Luke Short's partner was among those who came to see the big show at the depot, and his surprise can well be imagined when he discovered that no less a person than his partner was responsible for the big event. It did not take Luke and his partner long to fix up a code of signals by which they could communicate with each other. Luke could say a few things in the
Indian language that his partner could understand, and to which he could make comprehensible reply.